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Sag - gu - Jia - gont 



A IJoem 



BY 



JOHN WENTWORTH SANBORN, A. M. 



AND 



THE HEMLOCK-BOUGH HOUSE 



S>n\tta 3Jnihian 2jeqrnl>s 



1^ 



:» 



FRIENDSHIP, N. Y. 

JOHN W. SANBORN 

1905 






UBf-..-RYei COMU^lS 
Two Copies H.caivea 

NOV 16 »yo4 

CoDyrlaiii tht.y 
cuss a xxc, Nui 



Copyright, IQO4, 
BY JOHN W. SANBORN. 



All right} reier'ved. 



Spiitratinu 

TO THE 

SCOTTSVILLE N. Y. LITERARY SOCIETY 

WHICH, FO"fe UPWARDS OF THIRTY YEARS 
HAS STOOD FOR ALL THAT IS BEST 
TN LITERATURE, HISTORY AND SCIENCE, 
THIS WORK 

IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDIC^ ATED. 



iag-gu-&a-30nt 














Sag-gu-Ita-iijimt 



WILD weird tale I've heard the In- 
dians tell. 

Of Day-yu-da-s;ont and her magic 
spell. 

"Brilliant and sparkling'' her name 

signifies — 
True index of her character and eyes. 

As crystal water flashes forth the light 
As diamond stars illume the brow of 
Night; 

So Day-yu-da-gont by her matchless grace. 
Shed lustrous glory on her dusky race. 

An old man and his nephew dv. elt together ; 
And fished and hunted in all sorts of weather. 

One morn their traps were full. The fish and game 
They marveled at ! Some witch had made them 
tame. 

Fat steak of bears, plump birds, rich furs and deer, 
In heaps before the wigwam, brought good cheer. 

While resting from their toil, a sudden cry, 
As of a child in great distress hard by, 

Astonished them ! Against an old oak tree, 
They found, on searching, something strange 
to see — 




Day-yu-da-gont 6 

A baby girl ! with ej'es as bright as stars, 
Enwrapped in curling bark, with twigs for bars ! 

She smiled, and moved the nephew's tender heart. 
" I'll care for you," he said, " and share a part 

" Of all my game with you, till you are grown." 
He'd not have promised this if he had known 

His uncle's mind. He took the baby up, 
And hurried to the wigwam, helped her sup 

From out his ladle ; stirred the dying fire. 
In came the uncle. — All his slumbering ire 

Awoke! "My nephew, drive her out ! " In vain 
The nephew pleaded, "She will help us gain 

An easier living ; she will hoe the maize. 
Supply our lire" — "My nephew, if she stays 

"I'll kill her ! Get her out I tell her to go ! " 
At daylight she had gone. In feathery snow 

She left a woman's track. By night she'd blown. 
Like opening flower, to womanhood, and flown. 

"Well, uncle, she has gone, and let her go! 
What bad luck she'd have made us we do n't know." 

She sang a song, and all the beasts and birds 
Went after her, charmed by her magic words. 

The whole creation flocked where'er she sang; 
With not a wild bird's note the forest rana;. 

No squirrel chattered ; not a creature stayed ; 
Untimely twilight fell with deep'ning shade. 




Day-yti-da-gont 

With empty traps the two were left alone, 
For heartlessness to Day-yu-da-gont shown. 

They starved and died, and wild birds picked 

their bones, 
And He-no strung a necklace of their groans. 

" Now I'll become a babe again and cry. 
And capture me a husband by and by." 

Thus Day-yu-da-gont mused. Against a tree 
She leaned her cradle where no eye could see. 

A trapper and his nephew in those parts 

There chanced to live ; on them she tried her arts. 

Homeward at th' end of a laborious day. 

With bursting packs they slowly made their way. 

While resting from their toil, a sudden cry, 
As of a child in great distress hard by. 

Astonished them. Against a hemlock tree 
They found, on searching, something strange 
to see — 

A baby girl, with eyes as bright as stars. 
Enwrapped in curling bark with twigs for bars. 

She smiled, and touched and melted both their 

hearts; 
This time successful with her magic arts. 

The uncle whispered, " Nephew, we shall see 
Good luck ; we'll hunt and fish, and trap, and she' 

He-no was the Indian Spirit who handled the thunder-bolts and 
brought the storms. 





Day-yu-da-gont 8 

Will plant our maize, prepare our wood and meat, 
Our soup, parched corn, and all things good to eat. 

We'll shelter her, and shield her from the storm. 
Wrap her in choicest furs to keep her warm." 

So planned they, while the soup — a savory lot — 
The nephew ladled out, now steaming hot. 

But first they fed the babe. The Indians' guest 
Is served alone, and then they feed the rest. 

Next morning when the wigwam floor was swept, 
The nephew, eager, to the cradle crept,— 

And lo ! no babe ! but full-grown woman there ! 
Of fascinating grace, and queenly air. 

" My nephew, she's your wife! thus Indians w^d^ 
I'm very glad she's come,'' the uncle said. 

The nephew was delighted ; so was she. 
" In this arrangement we can all agree.'' 

While both the men were looking to their traps. 
With white stone from her pack she gave 
sharp raps 

On massive trees, and, with a magic sweep. 
Piled fire-wood up in one broad pond'rous heap ! 

The men returned, but every trap was lean. 
All day they hunted, but no game was seen. 

They neared the v^igwam. Day-yu-da-gont sang, 
And all the forest with the music rang. 




Day-yu-da-gont 9 

The birds were moved ; they chirped. The eagles 
screamed. 

With moles and squirrels swift the woodpile teem'd. 
She louder sang, and sweeter than before ; 
A whir of wings, and universal roar 

Of beasts throughout the forest, hurrying near, 
Fell doubtfully upon the uncle's ear. 

*'Now shoot the game as far as you can see," 
Said Day-yu-da-gont, "ere the beasts shall l^ee." 

They plied their arrows thick and fast as hail, 
They chased the game through many a 
well-v,'orn trail. 

The crowded traps that met their wondering gaze. 
For Day-yu-da-gont filled their mouths with praise. 

They had enough. At once she ceased her song, 
And into wild, dark solitudes, the throng 

Of birds and beasts each took their several way. 
Thus Day-yu-da-gont gave reward that day. 

For kindly treatment to a helpless child. 
Out in the forest desolate and wild. 

As crystal water flashes back the light. 

As diamond stars illume the brow of Night, 

So Day-yu-da-gont. by her matchless grace, 
Shed lustrous glory on her duskv race. 








TS: 






i^he iii^mloi'k-Mmx^l} ^lnlm 






ECLUDED from the rest of the 
tribe, a man and his wife lived in a 
house of hemlock boughs. He was 
a good hunter and they had plentv 
of meat. Skins of wild animals lined 
the house, and made it very warm. 
At length a boy was born to them, 
and they were pleased. In the sum- 
mer time the woman planted a few 
hills of corn in cleared spaces in the 
wood, and made their bread. When 
the boy was twenty-four moons old, 
(two years) a girl was born. A hundred moons 
passed by, and, one morning after the man had 
gone to hunt, the woman put on her best clothes, 
took an axe and head-strap and went away, telling 
the children to stay in the wigwam until she re- 
turned. She repeated these strange actions every 
day. She brought no wood home, and the chil- 
dren wondered. At last she beat the children as 
she started out, and hurt them very much. 

The father found them crying one night, and was 
much grieved when he learned the truth. Next 
morning he hid in the underbrush and watched. 
He saw her pound the children, and hurry away 
dressed in her best clothes. She did not know he 
was following her. She stopped near a large tree; 
it was a black ash. She tapped gendy on the tree. 



a.ofc. 



The Hemlock-Bough House 12 

The sound was like a bird's voice. He heard the 
warble of a bird as she continued to strike the tree. 

Like a flash of light, a man came and sat down 
beside her. The husband drew an arrow and mut- 
tered, " I will put an end to their sparking," and 
" whiz " flew the arrow like a lightning gleam, pas- 
sing between them. The strange man disappeared 
in the shape of an owl. The woman then saw her 
husband. She seized a club and struck him, 
and left him for dead. She hurried home. The 
boy sat down on a log, and she put the girl in his 
lap, and set fire to the hemlock-bough house. She 
scattered a handful of ashes, and said, "I command 
you to become snow." It snowed until it reached 
the tree-tops. The snow covered the children and 
buried her husband who was not dead but stunned. 

The woman left, never again to return. Soon 
the father came home. He cried, " Poor children ! 
my poor children! this is our fate. I will go after 
your mother. Stay here, and your dog will pro- 
tect you. Be kind to the dog. Never leave your 
sister." 

The father went away. The children cried. 
They did not know where the dog was, but soon 
the snow lifted near them in a broken heap. The 
dog was there, awaking from sleep. He stretched 
himself, and that made the snow lift and break. 
He beckoned to the children by wagging his tail 
and whining. They followed him, and lo ! a warm 
house with a bright fire! Food in plenty was in 
the house, with wooden bowls and ladles. They 
feasted, but always fed the dog first. In three days 
it ceased snowing. The dog became uneasy. The}' 



The Hemlock-Bough House 13 

disliked to go, but they obeyed the dog. There 
were nice playthings in the house. The boy tied 
them up, and tried to carry them and his sister, 
but he could not. The dog shook the bundle to 
pieces, and they knew he was unwilling to take the 
things. The snow had fallen over only a small 
space. In a few days it disappeared. The dog led 
them. They went a long way, and when weary 
they reached a bark house. It seemed to be the 
same house they had left in the morning, but it was 
not the same spot. Food was on the table. They 
knew not who prepared it. Bows and arrows of 
all kinds were there. The next day they hurried 
away taking bows and arrows with them. Past 
midday they saw a flock of wild turkeys. There 
was one white one, and the girl wanted it, so the 
boy chased the turkeys. The dog was far ahead 
now. The white turkey hid in the bushes. The 
boy plunged in after it, and caught it, but heard his 
sister scream. A bear was running off with her. 
The bear outran the dog. Soon the boy was left 
alone, and his father's command "never leave your 
sister*' came to his mind, and made him very sad. 
He wished he might die. Tramping on he came 
to a river. " Here I shall end my life." He saw 
a large tree leaning over the water. He climbed it. 
He then jumped into the river. There were rocks 
at the river-bottom, and he climbed over them, but 
did not succeed in drowning himself. 
*' What is the reason I cannot die ! " 
He walked along the bottom of the river out in- 
to a great lake. There were hills and queerly- 
shaped bushes, and bright-eyed fish. He met a 



The Hemlock-Bough House 14 

hideous fish-monster with an enormous wide-open 
mouth, and into this mouth he walked, and down 
the monster's throat, saying, " Now I shall surely 
die, and I am glad. " 

At the outlet of the lake lived two women who 
were poor. They had built a raceway down which 
the water rushed. They had driven in stakes a few 
inches apart for catching fish, and they lived on the 
fish caught in these stakes. They called this place 
Gah-ah-oh, "the fish-catch." 

One morning they found a large fish, and were 
overjoyed. They dragged him to dry land, and 
when they cut him open, they were scared to find 
a boy ! They aroused him. He opened his eyes 
and spoke. They were so glad he was alive that 
they forgot the fish, and carried the boy to their 
home. "How came you in the fish ?" they asked, 
and he told them the whole affair. 
" We heard the dog bark two moons ago. He 
ran not far away," they said. 

The boy cried, but the women were very kind 
and soon he felt at home. They found out that he 
had great power over wild animals, that he had on- 
ly to shoot an arrow, and say the word, and a bear 
or deer would fall at any place he wished. He at 
once shot a bear ; it was the first bear's meat they 
had tasted in many hundred moons. They said, 
" We have adopted you. Do not go beyond our 
domain." 

He thought, " What can be the reason they are 
always telling me not to go far ! I will find out." 
He wandered a long distance next day, and saw a 
coil of smoke rising. Creeping up cautiously, he 



The Hemlock-Bough House 15 

came upon a house. Peering through a crack, he 
saw an old man, wrinkled and dried up. The old 
man was a famous and dreaded witch. He had 
destroyed many people. In harsh tones he cried 
out, "Come in ! Come in ! I have a nice game I 
always play with folks. If my visitors beat me — 
but they never do — I tell them they may take off 
my head ; but I always beat them, and take off 
their heads." 

" That is fair," said the boy. 

The old witch took a wooden bowl and put six 
cherr^'-pits in it. These pits were rubbed smooth 
on one side and burned black on the other. 

"You are a boy and I will let you begin," said 
the old witch. 

He did not know the boy, but he soon found 
that he had great power, and he played right on. 
Every time he shook the cherry stones the smooth 
sides turned up and he won. The old witch was 
mad, and seized the bowl, and said, "Now I will 
play," but the boy said, " No ; it is not your turn." 
At last, he let the old man play, but his charm was 
broken, and he had poor luck ; the black sides came 
up for him every play, and he lost the game. The 
boy took his head off, and that was the end of the 
old witch. 

The women missed the boy. When he returned 
and told what he had done, they said, " We are 
glad ; this witch has destroyed all of our family. 
We feared he would kill you, and that is the rea- 
son we cautioned you not to go far away." 

One day there came a loud knock at their wig- 
wam door. Whenever a contest was to take place, 



The Hemlock-Bough House 16 

the custom was for a messenger to go about and 
knock at every wigwam door. The present mes- 
senger had come to announce a wedding. He said 
" I invite everybody to great wedding. O-no-ate 
will marry in six days. Every man bring bows and 
arrows." Now, O-no-ate was the name of this 
boy's own mother who had deserted him and tried 
to kill his father. The boy asked the women if he 
might go. They consented. 

liach man was to shoot arrows at a large bird at 
the top of a pole, and the one that hit the bird was 
to become the husband of O-no-ate. 

The boy went. The women gave him a cloak 
made of a skin, on either shoulder of which there 
was a human face, and there were human arms, and 
in the hands were war-clubs for the protection of 
the wearer. 

"Go, "said the women, "and be the guest of 
your uncle Ta-do-oh-ho-kah, — "man-of-the-wood- 
chuck-skin-skirt. " 

In three days the wedding would come off. Be- 
ing a swift runner, he reached his uncle's the next 
morning at daylight. 

" My nephew, I am glad to see you. Let me 
instruct you. When you reach the village of O-no- 
ate, turn from the main trail, and follow the foot- 
path. It will bring you to the wigwam of a poor 
woman who lives there with her grandchildren. 
Call her grandmother. There are many things set 
to entice the traveler on the way. Do not stop un- 
til you reach the grandmother's wigwam." 

He promised. Voices tempted him on the way, 
but he remembered how he disobeyed his father, 



The Hemlock-Bough House 17 

and lost his sister, and on he went rapidly. 

Great numbers were flocking to the wedding. 
He found the old woman's house. Before going 
in, he shot an arrow, and commanded it to bring a 
deer to the poor woman's door, and it did so. He 
went in, 

" Grandmother, I have come to be your guest 
through the wedding." 

" It is too bad, my grandson, but we have noth- 
ing good to eat" — and just then a fine deer fell 
dead at the door. The grandmother was happy, 
for there was plenty now. She went to the lodges 
at daylight, and returned, saying that the men had 
already begun to shoot at the bird, and some were 
tasting the soup which O-no-ate had prepared. 

"Wait till the evening twilight," said the grand- 
mother ; I know all about cruel O-no-ate, how she 
has treated your father, and sister, and you. Your 
father now lies in the dust at one end of the coun- 
cil-house. O-no-ate has driven a sharp hickory 
stick down his spinal column, and it produces a 
hard cough, and your sister hangs by a hook over 
the fire-place, just far enough above the fire not to 
be burned by the flames, but everybody punches 
the fire, and the sparks fly up around her, and she 
screams. The dog is also there. He, too, is bad- 
ly burned. At the other end of the same room 
sits cruel O-no-ate in great style, waiting for some 
man to shoot the bird, and claim her for his wife." 

At twilight the young man started. Near the 
council-house he changed into a very old man. It 
appeared that he could scarcely walk. He entered 
the council-house. It was filled with people. 



RD 1.4 8/T4i 



The Hemlock-Bough House 18 

All gazed at the feeble old man, and some objected 
to his entering. " He is too old to come here," 
they said. 

Others cried, " Let him go through. Make 
way!" and they prevailed. 

In a moment he saw that what the grandmother 
said was true. His heart was heavy at the sight. 

He went out, changed back to a young man, and 
prepared his arrows. Back to the grandmother's 
wigwam he hastened, and through the opening 
where the smoke went out, he shot an arrow, and 
hit the bird. None saw who shot the arrow, but 
all saw that the bird was hurt. It flew a long way, 
and fell dead. Many claimed the deadly arrow, 
but none could withdraw it ; only the rightful own- 
er could do that. 

Everybody's attention was drawn to the bird. 
The young man hurried to his father and sister. 
He drew out the hickory from his father's spine, 
and healed his wounds, released his sister, and the 
dog, and cured their burns, and they departed from 
the council-house. He set fire to the house, and 
O-no-ate's head grew hot, her brain exploded, and 
the remnant of it popped out and became the hoot- 
ing owl, and whenever the owl is heard to hoot, 
the cruelty of the faithless woman conies to mind, 
as a warning to others. The father, sister, and the 
dog went with the boy to the home of the women 
near the lake. They were glad. 

"And now, " said the young man, "let my fath- 
er marry one of you, and I will marry the younger." 
This was very pleasing to them all. They lived 
long, and happily, and died in peace. 

Na-ho! "I am done. " 




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